


Here Comes Santa Claus

by myleftsock



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, And By That I Mean Cock, Christmas Smut, Fluff and Smut, Humor, M/M, Pump Felix Hugo Fraldarius Full of Holiday Spirit 2k20
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28245396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myleftsock/pseuds/myleftsock
Summary: Felix is severely lacking in holiday cheer. Good thing Sylvain knows just how to get him in the mood.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 16
Kudos: 67





	Here Comes Santa Claus

**Author's Note:**

> (just fyi there’s a real quick scat joke in here)

Felix really should have known better than to bet against Sylvain.

“Are you ready, Felix?” Two knocks. “I want to see!”

“No.” 

It’s all Mercedes’ fault. If she hadn’t asked for her container back, then Felix never would have dared Sylvain to eat the last of the leftover soup she brought them three months ago when they both had the flu, and Sylvain wouldn’t have made it into a stupid bet, and Felix wouldn’t be standing in their room right now, dressed in a stupid, skin-tight Santa suit complete with a bag of fake gifts.

“Please?”

“I look ridiculous.” Even worse than that, it’s uncomfortable. The fur trimmings itch, the pants pinch his balls, and fake velvet does not breathe. Who the hell actually gets off on stuff like this?

“Come on, I bet you look sexy!”

Of course—Sylvain gets off on it. “The things I do for you,” Felix mutters as he grudgingly opens the door. 

Sylvain waits on the other side, hand poised to knock again. He gasps, and his jaw hangs open so long that Felix is  _ this close  _ to closing it for him when he finally says, “Oh, this was so worth the stomachache.”

Felix glares at him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying my humiliation.”

“You’re not having fun?” Sylvain looks way too smug for Felix to take his question seriously. “What if I told you I was a very good boy this year?” 

“No you weren’t,” Felix scoffs. “I was with you all year. And if you keep making Santa jokes, I’m taking this thing off.”

Sylvain blinks a few times. “I mean, that’s kind of the idea: making Santa jokes, getting you naked…” He tweaks the white puff on the end of Felix’s hat. “Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

“I’m in the outfit, aren’t I?”

“Yes, and I appreciate that,” says Sylvain, stroking Felix’s cheek. His voice is lower too, and Felix shivers. Must be the texture of the fabric giving him chills. “But you could play along a little.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal.” Felix crosses his arms and Sylvain’s mouth drops into an exaggerated pout. Whether or not his sadness is real, Felix would rather avoid his whining, so he grits his teeth and deadpans, “I lost my Christmas spirit, so I guess you’ll have to fill me up with yours.”

“That’s more like it!” Practically salivating, Sylvain whips off his T-shirt and dives for the bed. He sits down with his feet on the floor in front of him and pats his lap eagerly. 

“That’s not how it works,” Felix points out. “Aren’t you supposed to sit on my lap and tell me what you want?”

Sylvain’s eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa there, Santa, I’m not sure I want you coming down my chimney tonight. Didn’t really prepare for it, if you catch my drift.”

“Didn’t prepare for—what are you talking about?” Oh. Felix narrows his eyes. “That is not what I meant, and if you want me anywhere near your dick, I better not hear you call your ass a chimney ever again.” That’s what he gets for trying to act the part. Felix heaves a sigh, his patience wearing thinner by the second. “I just thought that since you insisted on roleplay, we should do it—ugh, why bother?”

Entertaining this nonsense at all was a mistake. Felix lets the gift bag fall to the floor unceremoniously and mounts Sylvain, simultaneously flattered and annoyed to find him already hard. Sylvain doesn’t miss a beat, gripping Felix’s hips and rocking him on his lap. 

“I’ve got something in my sack for you,” he murmurs, arching his hips up as Felix grinds down.

“If you want to be Santa so badly,” Felix growls, though he can’t pretend the friction doesn’t feel good, “you're more than welcome to wear the suit.” 

Sylvain ignores him. “I know I said I was good this year, but you know the truth, don’t you?” He leans closer, his breath warm and tantalizing next to Felix’s ear. “Do you have a lump of coal for this naughty boy?”

“What?” Felix recoils in horror. “I am not taking a shit on you!” He didn’t think Sylvain was into that, but then again, he didn’t think Sylvain was a Santafucker, either. “No more roleplay, no more Santa, and you are definitely sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Sylvain shakes his head rapidly and grabs for Felix. “No, no—I just wanted to know if I was on your naughty list!”

“Oh.” That makes more sense. Felix presses on his temples to clear his head before he winds up with another mental image he can’t unsee. Okay. Naughty list. He can work with that. Didn’t this costume come with props? “I guess I’m supposed to say something about how you’ve been so bad, I had to bring my reindeer crop to punish you, right?” 

Sylvain looks scandalized. “Santa wouldn’t whip his reindeer! That’s too mean, and besides, why would he need to when they’re magical?” 

“I’m not going to whip—I don’t even have reindeer!” Good grief, they’re both terrible at this. Felix reaches for his belt but instead of a whip, he finds a candy cane. 

“You gonna cane me with that?” Sylvain snickers. 

Felix brandishes it like a sword. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll shove it down your throat.” 

“Is that a promise?” Sylvain’s eyes flash dark and he leans forward to lick the candy cane lavisciously (even though it’s still wrapped), sending a heated pulse through Felix. No.  _ No. _ This is  _ not _ working on him. One more second and he’s ripping this costume off so they can get down to fucking. 

“Mmm,” Sylvain drawls, locking eyes with Felix for a full on suck. “Minty.”

Okay, one more second. “It’s not even open.”

“Not yet.” And with his palms flat on the bed, Sylvain rips the end of the wrapper off with his teeth. A piece of crinkly plastic gets stuck on Sylvain’s tongue and he has to spit it out. It's actually kind of cute, but then Sylvain takes the long end of the candy cane deep into his mouth, killing Felix’s laugh before it starts. He hollows out his cheeks like he’s giving head and blood rushes Felix’s cock. Oh, to be that candy cane. A strange sound comes out of him, something between a grunt and a moan. Is he really jealous of a dessert? 

Best not to think too hard about it. 

He plucks the offending confection from Sylvain’s mouth and offers himself instead. Sylvain welcomes him onto his lap with open arms. Somehow, he’s even harder than he was before, but Felix is catching up and less ashamed to admit it by the minute. Mint cools their kiss, and this, Felix decides, is the only way to enjoy candy: sweet on Sylvain’s tongue with none of the cloying sugar burn. 

Relief is even sweeter when Sylvain dips his fingers under the waistband of Felix’s pants to scratch his sides, like he knows just how itchy the fabric is. It’s almost as good as their clothed cocks rubbing together, and Felix takes that as a challenge. Jingling sounds full the room as they move faster and faster—oh god, it’s the bells on his stupid costume. The sooner he can be rid of this thing, the better. Felix tugs at his pants, murmuring _ “off, off” _ between kisses. 

“Ah-ah,” Sylvain taunts as he catches Felix’s hands. “Give me a line first.”

A line? Felix narrows his eyes (though he doesn’t stop moving). His cock is one good drag away from popping the third-rate stitching, and for a few wild seconds he actually considers humoring Sylvain with some line about making the Yuletide gay. 

Nah. His body is more effective than any words he could muster. Felix grinds down hard on Sylvain’s cock instead, vindicated when Sylvain unleashes a hoarse moan. No lines, Felix decides, no talking at all. From now on, he’s communicating through thrusts and glares only. 

Sylvain gets the message, and he reaches into Felix’s pants to cup his ass. Maybe he should adopt this strategy year round. 

“All right, Santa baby,” Sylvain says, “time to trim your tree.”

“What does that even mean?” Oops. Felix forgot—no talking. Yanking his pants down says it all anyway, and his cock bounces free, rosy red and rock hard. Sylvain eyes it hungrily. 

“Is that Rudolph I—”

If Sylvain finishes that sentence, Felix may never get hard again, so he cuts him off with a searing kiss. Sylvain’s pants join his own at their feet and with the way things are going, Felix half expects to find a bow on his dick. It’s a present all on its own, crowned with precome and (maybe) worth all of this nonsense.

He settles on Sylvain’s lap once more, cocks lined up and hot enough to melt ice on contact. Felix wraps his hand around both of them, though his fingers barely reach. It’s so good: the slide of skin on skin, the way their balls press together, Sylvain’s hands guiding his ass. Their lips crash in messy, open kisses and Felix’s hat falls off, but somehow the Christmas curse lives on because Felix wants to ride Sylvain like a sleigh. It has to be the coat. 

Felix fumbles with the buttons with one hand, still jerking their lengths with the other. He manages to open the jacket but Sylvain stops him from shrugging it off. 

“Please,” Sylavin begs, “leave it on.”

Something—the desperation in his voice, the spirit of giving—speaks to Felix and he relents. It’s motivation to work harder; he can ruin it with sweat and be rid of it for good. 

“Perfect,” Sylvain says as he flattens his hand to Felix’s stomach. “Because I’m about to pump you so full of come, your belly’s gonna shake like a bowl full of jelly.”

No one can say Sylvain isn’t well read. It’s filthy and stupid and so very Sylvain that Felix can’t even get mad. He wants every drop inside of him, and if he doesn’t stop touching Sylvain, all that come will go to waste. 

Like a mind reader, Sylvain pulls his wrist away. Felix aches for Sylvain’s touch, his cock, but anticipation is almost as good as the payoff. They know this part well: Felix reaching for the lube, slathering Sylvain from base to tip, then fingering himself with the excess. His own fingers are nothing; they just make him yearn for Sylvain. 

Sylvain watches him open himself up, laying encouraging kisses on his shoulder, but Felix can’t stop staring at his cock. It’s a fucking fountain today, so slick they barely even need the lube. Maybe there’s something to this stupid Santa suit (not that Felix will ever wear it again). That’s the only possible explanation for the words that come out of his mouth as he lines himself up.

“Here comes Santa  _ Claaahh...” _

A moan swallows his shame as Sylvain’s massive cock spreads him wide, stretching his inner walls inch by glorious inch. Sylvain is so into it he doesn’t even laugh, just makes a guttural noise as his eyes roll back in his head. The moment they come together is always pure bliss, but they've already wasted so much time—too much for Felix to bask in it or even let himself adjust. He loves the pull, right on the line of pain, and he chases it, sliding up and down, working up to a rhythm. 

Sylvain grips his ass to bounce him rougher, so hard his cock slaps his stomach, coaxing pleasure from his every nerve. It’s all worth it—the costumes, the terrible jokes—because it wouldn’t feel this good if he didn’t love Sylvain so damn much (and he'd never go to the trouble for anyone else). Sylvain is saying something but every thrust of his cock rubs Felix’s prostate and turns more of his brain to liquid and he’s lost to everything but the bells ringing out their beat. Someone told him that’s how angels earn their wings, but he’s flying higher. Forehead buried in Sylvain’s shoulder, he hangs on tight as the air thins, until he can almost see them in all their splendor. Felix doesn’t believe in gods or angels, but he believes in this, and he calls Sylvain’s name in praise. 

It’s not Christmas yet, but Sylvain gives him exactly what he wants. He comes hard, slamming his hips into Felix and filling him up just like he promised. Felix loves this moment, balls squeezed between their bodies, Sylvain’s cock throbbing inside him like a heartbeat, so deep Felix can’t separate the pulse from his own, but...

“More,” Felix cries out, writhing on his lap in an attempt to get back to speed. “I need—”

“Take it.” Sylvain can’t meet his thrusts anymore, and his hands shake at Felix’s sides. It’s no surprise. Stamina was never Sylavin’s strong suit, but he’s more than earned his rest. Felix takes over, pushing him flat on his back and crashing down on him, over and over again until he’s a roaring fire on Sylvain’s cock. Sylvain knows better than to touch him when he’s like this, and he says, honeyed, “Use me, Felix, I’m yours, I’m…”

His voice hits like a shot, charging Felix’s blood until he’s dizzy, too drunk and greedy to do anything but grip Sylvain’s sweat-slicked chest and ride him into the bed. He can’t keep himself steady much longer—it’s too deep, too raw, too spiritual—and, stuffed with cock and come, Felix explodes in ecstasy.

He’s not sure how much time passes after he collapses on Sylvain, but when he finally props himself up once more, Sylvain gazes at him, still helplessly splayed on the bed and slurring sweet nothings. Felix lifts off of his cock, come running down his thigh in a familiar trickle that eases the emptiness. As he surveys the damage, he expects Sylvain’s soaked, flagging cock and the mess on his own stomach, but the white streaks on his red jacket catch him off guard.

They speak at the same time, Sylvain with dismay and Felix with glee. “It’s ruined.”

“This won’t survive the washing machine,” Felix says, unable to suppress his grin. “Guess we’ll have to burn it.”

Sylvain reaches for the fur-trimmed hem, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “A proper send off.”

“Really?” Felix raises an eyebrow, surprised he isn’t putting up a fight. “Now that you’ve fucked Santa, you’re done with him?” 

“Ah, but Felix, don’t you see?” Shaking his head, Sylvain sits up and pushes the coat down, then holds Felix by his bare shoulders. “Santa was inside you all along.”

Now Felix is even more confused (and annoyed). “I thought we established  _ I  _ was Santa.”

“Felix…”

“Or is that some quote I’m supposed to recognize?” 

“Just give me a kiss.”

Felix grunts for show, but he obliges.

**Author's Note:**

> If you thought those puns were bad, you should see the ones that didn't make the cut.
> 
> Happy Holidays! I hope this made you smile, or at least groan.


End file.
